


Surrender

by TheGameIs0n



Series: Unfinished Tales [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Unfinished, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:30:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5287238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGameIs0n/pseuds/TheGameIs0n
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John receive a surprising client.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Original Version

**Author's Note:**

> This was the prologue to a longer fic that I had planned a long time ago but never wrote any more for, thus why it is included in my Unfinished Tales. Enjoy!
> 
> Chapter two is modified to read as a reader insert with no gender-identifying terms, although I believe the original reads more smoothly.

A London cab made its way down the street, the slick roads slowly beginning to empty as the night wore on. It slowed to a stop, allowing a lone figure to get out and hand over a few pounds. Pulling away, the cab drove off and left its previous occupant standing in front of a little café and a door, rain beating down around them.

The figure approached the door, running a finger over the golden numbers fastened to it before firmly pushing the buzzer. The door was opened a moment later by an elderly woman with a kind face who ushered the visitor inside out of the pouring rain.

“You can go up in a minute,” the woman said, correctly assuming why the visitor was there. She smiled before heading back to her own living quarters, delicious smells of baking wafting in from the room.

Trying to shake off some of the water, the visitor ran her fingers through long chestnut-coloured hair. Raised voices could be heard in the flat upstairs, and a moment later a door slammed. The visitor listened as footfalls sounded down the steps, the man they belonged to bumping into her as he made for the exit.

“My apologies,” he acknowledged tightly, obviously put off at the argument which had just taken place. He was well dressed in a pinstriped suit and red tie, an umbrella in hand. He wouldn’t be getting soaked in the rain tonight.

The visitor nodded in acceptance of his apology, though spoke in a tone which suggested slight needling. “It’s no trouble.  It happens, especially when one has just been in the middle of a row.”

The man winced visibly, evidently having hoped the noise of the argument hadn’t carried. “Indeed,” he replied, now studying her with interest. “I must be off. Good evening.”

They brushed by each other, headed in opposite directions. The visitor heard the front entrance close and flicked her chocolate brown eyes to the top of the staircase, setting her shoulders before going up.

The door to the flat was opened before the visitor could knock, a short man in a frankly ridiculous jumper standing in the entrance.

“Dr. Watson,” the visitor greeted. Ignoring his look of surprise, she continued. “May I come in? I believe I have a case which Mr. Holmes would be quite interested to hear about.”

A voice came from inside the flat, laced with boredom and at least slight irritation. “Do stop standing there with your mouth hanging open, John, and let our client in.”

John shook his head, snapping out of his surprise and stepping out of the way.

“Thank you,” the visitor replied in amusement. She stepped inside and John shut the door behind her, heading back to his chair and leaving her to stand before the detectives. “I don’t suppose you would care to elaborate on what that business with your brother Mycroft was all about now, would you, Mr. Holmes? I admit I’m rather curious,” she commented.

This prompted even Sherlock Holmes to raise an eyebrow, and John Watson to once again gain a look of utter shock.

The visitor smiled mischievously, pulling a laminated card from her pocket and handing it to Sherlock. He glanced at it smugly, as if he had nicked it himself. “Mycroft’s ID,” he said, tossing it to John, who laughed.

“She’s about as light-fingered as you are when it comes to your brother,” the doctor said with a grin.

Sherlock considered the visitor with a look of curiosity that he rather poorly disguised as only mild interest. “Quite so. John, would you mind?”

John nodded, clearly understanding Sherlock’s request for him to go through the usual preliminary questions. He opened his mouth to speak, but-

“I’ll save you the trouble. My name is Nicole Louise Harrington, I am twenty-nine years old, I work occasionally with Scotland Yard, not unlike yourself, Mr. Holmes-“ she nodded at the detective, “-and I am here because my family has been murdered and I am next on the killer’s list.” 


	2. Reader Insert Version

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modified version of the original so it may be read as a reader insert.

A London cab made its way down the street, the slick roads slowly beginning to empty as the night wore on. It slowed to a stop, allowing you to get out and hand over a few pounds. Pulling away, the cab drove off and left you standing in front of a little café and a door, rain beating down around you.

You approached the door, running a finger over the golden numbers fastened to it before firmly pushing the buzzer. The door was opened a moment later by an elderly woman with a kind face who ushered you inside out of the pouring rain.

“You can go up in a minute,” the woman said, correctly assuming why you were there. She smiled before heading back to her own living quarters, delicious smells of baking wafting in from the room.

Trying to shake off some of the water, you ran your fingers through your wet hair. Raised voices could be heard in the flat upstairs, and a moment later a door slammed. You listened as footfalls sounded down the steps, the man they belonged to bumping into you as he made for the exit.

“My apologies,” he acknowledged tightly, obviously put off at the argument which had just taken place. He was well dressed in a pinstriped suit and red tie, an umbrella in hand. He wouldn’t be getting soaked in the rain tonight.

You nodded in acceptance of his apology, though spoke in a tone which suggested slight needling. “It’s no trouble.  It happens, especially when one has just been in the middle of a row.”

The man winced visibly, evidently having hoped the noise of the argument hadn’t carried. “Indeed,” he replied, now studying you with interest. “I must be off. Good evening.”

You brushed by each other, headed in opposite directions. You heard the front entrance close and flicked your eyes to the top of the staircase, setting your shoulders before going up.

The door to the flat was opened before you could knock, a short man in a frankly ridiculous jumper standing in the entrance.

“Dr. Watson,”you greeted. Ignoring his look of surprise, you continued. “May I come in? I believe I have a case which Mr. Holmes would be quite interested to hear about.”

A voice came from inside the flat, laced with boredom and at least slight irritation. “Do stop standing there with your mouth hanging open, John, and let our client in.”

John shook his head, snapping out of his surprise and stepping out of the way.

“Thank you,” you replied in amusement. You stepped inside and John shut the door behind you, heading back to his chair and leaving you to stand before the detectives. “I don’t suppose you would care to elaborate on what that business with your brother Mycroft was all about now, would you, Mr. Holmes? I admit I’m rather curious,” you commented.

This prompted even Sherlock Holmes to raise an eyebrow, and John Watson to once again gain a look of utter shock.

You smiled mischievously, pulling a laminated card from your pocket and handing it to Sherlock. He glanced at it smugly, as if he had nicked it himself. “Mycroft’s ID,” he said, tossing it to John, who laughed.

“Nearly as light-fingered as you are when it comes to your brother,” the doctor said with a grin.

Sherlock considered you with a look of curiosity that he rather poorly disguised as only mild interest. “Quite so. John, would you mind?”

John nodded, clearly understanding Sherlock’s request for him to go through the usual preliminary questions. He opened his mouth to speak, but-

“I’ll save you the trouble. My name is (F/N) (L/N), I am twenty-nine years old, I work occasionally with Scotland Yard, not unlike yourself, Mr. Holmes-“ you nodded at the detective, “-and I am here because my family has been murdered and I am next on the killer’s list.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I may end up finishing this at some point if the mood strikes me and you guys like it, but for the life of me I can't remember where I wanted it to go when I first wrote it. Which is unfortunate, considering I think this is some of my better writing.  
> As always, comments and critiques are most welcome!


End file.
